


Mistakes We Wouldn't Learn From

by whenthesunhasset



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenthesunhasset/pseuds/whenthesunhasset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Love is a many-splendored thing," the songs say. "All you need is love." But love is not easy, and sometimes it breaks your heart.<br/>Or, the life of Loras Tyrell, from the time he tells Renly he should be king until the very end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes We Wouldn't Learn From

**Author's Note:**

> Written almost entirely on my phone.  
> Diverges from cannon slightly in a few places.  
> Characters are GRRMs, words are mine.

The night was black and cold, an unusual occurrence in the usually warm lands. A storm was brewing, the maester said, and winter was coming, after all. The Stark words. 

If you asked Loras, though, it was not winter that brought this storm, nor the words of a house as old as winter itself. This storm came in the rage of a woman, which was much, much scarier. 

The second the doors to his rooms slammed open-- and then shut just as loudly-- the famed Knight of Flowers knew he was in for a long night, and not in the way he would have preferred. He spared a quick prayer of thanks to whatever gods were listening that he had his own room. Unusual for a young knight, yes, but not for the king's younger brother's favorite knight. Even if he hadn't been Renly's former squire and favorite companion, Loras was better than most knights, and highborn to boot. That in itself merited a private room, the rest were just niceties. 

Unfortunately, walls of a keep could not contain the magnitude of Margaery's rage, and Loras was sure half of King's Landing must have heard her, let alone his fellow guards on the other side of the stone wall. 

The woman storm herself was currently sitting in a chair, looking less like a hurricane and more like a drizzle. Loras knew better, though. The pair had been raised together, after all, and he knew how to read her perfectly, and she him. 

He knew the hard press of her comely lips meant only one thing: he was in for it. The rage brewing between her normally sparkling eyes was another tell-tale sign of the oncoming storm. 

A man who knew Margaery less would assume the worst was over, but Loras knew his sister better. When she'd barged in, demanding to know what the hell he'd been thinking, if he'd even been thinking at all, the Knight of Flowers had said not a word. It was always better to save his breath until her second wind came and she returned to berating him like a child rather than the knighted man a year her elder that he was. 

After a long pause devoid of noise save their steady breathing, Margaery stood. She poured herself a cup of wine in silence, before turning to face her brother.   
"Now, Knight of Flowers. Tell me what you told Renly." Her voice was calm, but her eyes made Loras tread carefully. One wrong word and she'd be at his throat again. 

"I told him that he should declare himself king, upon Robert's death." And at this point, the King's death was inevitable. Gods knew Joffrey would not make a fit king, no more than Stannis would. It only made sense that Renly declare himself, really. 

Of course he saw the risk of it, the danger. However, he would not take back his words, not here, not now, especially not while he still believed his words true. Even had he thought them false, he would have kept his tongue. The famous Tyrell pride ran deep in him, after all. 

"And why, dear, would you think to do such a thing?" In that moment, Margaery sounded more like their mother than she had any right to sound. Loras was immediately reminded of similar scoldings, when he was but a boy and had done something extraordinarily stupid in his young age. 

A pause. "Because he would be the best of them, Marg. You know it. I know it. Yes, it's dangerous, but it's not as if Renly'll listen to me--"

"That's where you're wrong, ser. You see," Margaery's calm, airy tone finally slipped, and the storm beneath began to come through, "Renly took your folly seriously. As soon as his darling brother and king passes, he plans to declare himself king." By then, Margaery's face was mere inches from his own, her eyes full of ferocity. "And do you know who he plans to make his queen?"

Loras' eyes were wide, and he knew what his dear sister would say before she said it. "You," he choked out, his pride slipping. 

"Me," she confirmed.

It made sense, of course. If Loras had any say in it-- and he would make sure he did-- there was no doubt that the Tyrells would side with Renly. What better way to seal the alliance than a royal marriage? 

By Margaery's tone, he could tell she was just as unhappy about it as he was. Their lord father, however, would be ecstatic. Margaery and Renly would work something out, of course-- Marg could still sleep her maids, Renly could still sleep with Loras (assuming he was still wanted, but that was a matter for another time). Somehow, that knowledge didn't quite ease that stupid, irrational sting of pain and, much to his chagrin, jealousy. 

"You know he'd rather it be you." Her tone was soft, the storm flickering out as quickly as it had come at her brother's fallen face.   
Loras nodded, knowing her words were true, but unable to stop the steady ache in his chest. "Well, you've always wanted to be a queen," he murmured, leaning into Margaery. 

The future queen just laughed and kissed his forehead.

\-------------------------------------

It is almost a week before Loras sees Renly again. 

They had fled kings landing a few days before. Even though he was supposed to be guarding his Lord, his soon-to-be-king, Renly had decided he favored his other knights more for the time being. 

Loras knew it was pointless to sulk. He knew from Margaery that Renly was talking to all of the knights of high birth in his service, working on subtly swaying their allegiance to him before he declared himself king. The declaration itself would come when they reached Storm's End, he had heard, though the fact that he had not heard it from _Renly_ upset him more than he would admit.

But even though Margaery assured Loras that his lover was not purposely ignoring him, there was still an added fierceness in his body when he trained.   
It was there that Renly found him. The makeshift training yard was nothing spectacular, just a clearing with some equipment haphazardly set up. The sun was setting, but the last of the equipment had just been arranged-- they had only just stopped for the night an hour or so ago. 

If Loras had it his way, he wouldn't be leaving this place for the rest of the night, but rarely did the young knight have his way, it seemed. The constant thrum of activity, the feel of a weapon being put to good use in his hands, all had a soothing, therapeutic effect on him, and he would not readily give that up for something as trivial as sleep. 

He was shooting a bow and arrow at a tree, hitting his mark with deadly accuracy time after time, when he heard the voice. 

"I don't think that tree can hold any more arrows."

His body froze, and then unfroze, a fiery rage replacing the ice. With the rage kept in check and his jaw locked shut, he shot another arrow at the tree, his aim perfect. He didn't trust himself to answer, did not trust what he was sure would come out of his mouth.

"Come on, Loras, I know you can hear me." The exasperation was heavy in Renly's voice, and Loras' resolve wavered slightly. 

"So what if I can?" he huffed, voice barely loud enough to be heard. 

Renly heard. Of course Renly heard. "What's got you so touchy?" he could almost hear the smug smile, despite the serious tone.   
He almost dropped the weapon and walked away. Maybe he should have. But instead, he turned and finally, finally met those eyes he fell in love with. 

Something in his eyes apparently answered Renly's question, because his eyes softened and he took a step forward, then another, and another, until they're so close all he would have to do is reach out his hand and touch him, but he doesn't. He can't.

Renly peered around, making sure no one's watching, and does what Loras can't. The warmth of Renly's hand in his, strong and big and constant, quells the rage building inside him, and for the first time in what seems like months, he can breathe. 

"Come with me, my Knight of Flowers," he says, dropping the hand and raising his voice, "It seems I have need to pray, but I fear I've forgotten how."

The cheeky grin on his lover's face causes Loras to roll his eyes, but he follows without hesitation. 

When they arrive at Renly's tent, no words are spoken. Of course, Loras expected as much. But even still, as clothes are shed and bodies meet in a heated rush, their problems resolving themselves in the form of two lovers performing the intimate dance, he can't help but feel it's not enough, not this time. 

\-------------------------------------

After that night, things fade into a much more normal routine. Their nights are shared in each others' beds, their days with their designated duties. Everything seems like it might actually be okay, like the upcoming war won't actually affect them. 

That is, until they reach Storm's End. 

Everything suddenly happens in a flurry of activity. The crown comes first, a beautiful thing made of gleaming gold, with antlers reminding anyone who'd dare forget of Renly's heritage. As for the new king himself, the crown fits atop his dark, dark hair perfectly, making him look so obscenely gorgeous it takes away Loras' breath the first time he sees it. 

Directly after the crown is completed comes the coronation. It's a splendid affair, and the feast afterwards is so rich all other food seems to pale in comparison. That night, they predictably spend it in Renly's bed, completely shutting out the lords and ladies who would like to congratulate him. The sex they have is as amazing as the food, and Loras might have said 'your grace' one too many times, having tested out the title and realizing that, yes, he liked it a lot, but if Renly notices or minds, he doesn't tell mention it. The crinkle in his eyes, however, hints that maybe Renly likes it too.

A few weeks later, it's Loras' name day. His father wants it to be huge party, as all Tyrell celebrations seem to be, but with all the lengthy and sped-up wedding planning, he's too distracted to remember to actually _plan_ it. Renly, desperate to avoid spending any more time with his future goodfamily, all of whom seem to think he'll have a baby in Margeary's belly almost immediately, and feel the need to remind him of this at alarmingly often intervals, takes it upon himself to plan the whole thing. 

"It's going to be grand," the king promises one night, as they lie sated in his bed. "With rich food, strong wine, and singers. Lots of singers." 

"And you," Loras replies, his smile suggestive. 

Renly only laughs in response, but when the night of his name day arrives, Loras does indeed get Renly-- over and over again. And when he walks funny the next morning, the other knights in the training yard either don't notice or are used to his I-was-just-fucked-all-night limp to the point of not caring.   
And so time passes, with big events followed by some calm, where Loras trains until his body aches and then Renly makes his body ache more in whole different ways. 

Then the wedding is upon them. 

In the weeks leading up to it, the castle slowly fills with every noble family under Renly's reign-- his Lords Declarant as well as those of Highgarden, plus a plethora of other lords who have chosen to support his claim. Their time together grows smaller and smaller until it's almost nonexistent.   
Loras finds that he is not too worried about the wedding. His jealousy is tame, compared to what it had been. Of course, this may have something to do with the king and his men heading off to war immediately after the ceremony. It seems the fighting has begun, and King Renly would rather lose his throne than miss out on the war. 

The ceremony was beautiful, and Margaery was glowing. She looked every part the blushing bride, who was happily fulfilling her duty and marrying well. In a way, perhaps she was, but he knew her well enough that he could tell it was a mask. The power that the marraige would provide enticed her, at least, but the basis on which the marriage was brought about still displeased her. And just like that, it was over and done with, and the men were out of the castle before the bedding was even thought about.

Later that night, when they stopped to rest and Loras slipped into Renly's great tent, he realized the irony of the situation. A Tyrell was in Renly's bed, all right-- just not the right one.

\-------------------------------------

War is nothing like Loras imagined. 

Of course, he hasn't actually fought yet. None of them have, not in this war (though many of the nights have never fought in any war). Some of the stress might be from Loras' new position as head of Renly's Rainbow Guard, but he can't exactly go around sharing that. 

He does complain about it to Renly, though, one night in his tent. For once, they are simply talking rather than fucking, and Loras had almost forgotten how much he missed this, forgotten that, before they became lovers, they had been friends. 

"These knights of yours are a pain," he whines, his head in Renly's lap. 

"They can't be that bad," the king retorts with a laugh, fingers carding through the younger man's curls. 

"Yes, they can!" Loras insists, pouting. "Half of then can't even hit a fucking target with a crossbow, and most of them can barely hold a sword!"

Renly's body shakes with another laugh. "You were like that once, too, my little rose," he reminds him. Loras huffs in reply, but Renly continues. "At least the Rainbow Guard is good. Half of those knights fought for Robert during the Rebellion. They've killed, Loras. Perhaps they'd rather your position, if you care so little for it." His tone is light, teasing, but Loras considers the offer. 

His pride gets the best of him, unsurprisingly, and he declines. 

After that, neither make mention of it, and the stress does decrease. 

Until Lady Catelyn pays them a visit. 

\-------------------------------------

He can pinpoint the exact moment everything begins to fall apart. 

The Lady Brienne, Brienne the Beauty, the ugly she-man of Tarth, somehow gets the upper hand on him during a tourney. It's a fluke; he will swear that until his dying day. The point of the matter still stands, though-- he has been defeated, not only by a woman, but by a woman so enraptured with Renly she seemed to be unable to see how foolish she was being. To make matters worse, Renly had promised to give the winner whatever they desired, and Loras could only imagine how outlandish this monster's request would be. But that's not the moment, oh no. 

The moment isn't even when she asks to join the Rainbow Guard. 

The moment is when Renly says she can. 

It's not immediate, this complete removal of everything normal, but it does happen far too quickly for his liking. The next thing he knows, what seems like minutes but is actually days later, Loras is riding out with Renly and Lady Catelyn and a good amount of men to meet with Stannis. The plan is to get the other king to see reason, but Loras has met Stannis, many times, and he knows the man will not back down with what he believes to be his right, even if backing down will spare his life. The meeting does not go well, not that anyone expected it to, but it does provide some insight-- Stannis' force is no match for Renly's. 

The agreement is that they will fight on the morrow. Renly plans to strike sooner, and sends his knights off to get a few hours of sleep while he makes plans. Loras, who has the vanguard, agrees that it is probably in his best interest to get some rest, but an hour or so of trying proves that he is far too wound up to sleep. He knows he was not expecting something like  _this_ to happen, but he likes to believe he was at least a little prepared for bad news.

Loras is halfway across camp, in his tent with Margaery, when it happens. 

Everything afterwards is a haze. He remembers pain, unbearable pain, resonating deep in his chest, clouding his senses. He remembers rage, white hot and throbbing, and blood pooling around the bodies at his feet.  And then he remembers tears, warm and salty, pouring down his cheeks and soaking the cold body of his king, his lover, his best friend. And then he remembers nothing. 

Days pass in a blur. 

He doesn't sleep. 

He doesn't cope. 

But somehow, life goes on.


End file.
